9-30-18 NEW PineAweigh Adventure - Rocks & Sticks

The picture is of rocks, right? I found them on Blake Island’s eastern beach. Some of them are agate and that pleases me plenty. 

But today, the great treasure is found beside the beach rocks. 

The Stick.

“Here,” said the little girl with straight dark hair wearing a pink, quilted jacket, black leggings, and sparkly plastic beach shoes. She must be about five-years-old, I thought. I had seen her earlier with an adult I assumed was her father, carefully climbing among stacked boulders along the shore, poking her way with with a walking stick I first mistook for a fishing pole.

“Here,” she said later in the morning, extending The Stick to me as Skoshi and I meant to pass by on a dirt path paralleling water’s edge. 

“I think you might enjoy this,” she said, finishing the handoff. That was it. A stranger. A stick. A decision to share.

Slightly startled, but recovering quickly enough to avoid dis-ease, I said, “Thank you! I do love natural things. And, by the way, I enjoyed watching you a while ago, bravely making your way along the rocks. Well done.”

She thanked me, turned and moved on to the next adventure which involved climbing atop a massive decaying stump in order to reach half the height of the trunk of an oak before it branched out, to explain to her companion something about the face she found in a knot she was inspecting. Skoshi and I moved on to the ramp, down the gradual, high-tide slope, and to the boat where, at the cockpit door,  I placed the stick beside my resting stack of rocks—some of which I believe are agate.

It didn’t take long before the sight of my not so hidden cache of rocks bore into mind as Idea. I selected a small, softly yellow and very clear, very agate, rock and walked around a corner of the dock’s finger to where her small boat was tied. I knocked on the fiberglass hull and stood near the cockpit where shimmering pink plastic beach shoes rested next to a tossed-off pink jacket. Father and child emerged.

“Hi,” said I. “I wanted to thank you again for the stick you shared and would like for you to have one of my treasured rocks. I think this is agate. You can hold it up to the light and see nearly all the way through it. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I am enjoying the stick you shared.

“Thank you,” she said.

It wasn’t long before I saw their small boat leave the island. Who were they? Who was she? Whatever prompted her decision to share? What’s the meaning of an exchange of a small stick and a small rock? Is there a butterfly’s flutter in Brazil that started it all? I’m game for that sort of explanation. Otherwise, I don’t have one. I do have a stick that moved between hands along a path on an island where neither she nor I live. It rests now, treasured, along with a stack of rocks—some of which may be agate.

The picture is of rocks, right? I found them on Blake Island’s eastern beach. Some of them are agate and that pleases me plenty. 

But the great treasure is found beside the beach rocks. 

The Stick.

“Here,” said the little girl wearing a pink, quilted jacket, black leggings, and sparkly plastic beach shoes. She must be about five-years-old, I thought. I had seen her earlier with an adult I assumed was her father, climbing carefully among stacked boulders along the shore, 

poking her way with with a walking stick I first mistook for a fishing pole.

“Here,” she said later in the morning, extending The Stick to me as Skoshi and I meant to pass her by on a dirt path paralleling water’s edge. 

“I think you might enjoy this,” she said, finishing the handoff. That was it. A stranger. A stick. A decision to share.

Slightly startled, but recovering quickly enough to avoid dis-ease, I said, “Thank you! I do love natural things. And, by the way, I enjoyed watching you a while ago, bravely making your way along the rocks. Well done.”

She thanked me, turned and moved on to the next adventure which involved climbing atop a massive decaying stump in order to explain to her companion something about the face she found in a knot of the oak tree she was inspecting, now at half the height of  the trunk before it branched out. Skoshi and I moved on to the ramp, down the gradual, high-tide slope, and to the boat where, at the cockpit door,  I passed my resting stack of rocks—some of which I believe are agate.

It didn’t take long before the sight of my not so hidden cache of rocks bore into mind as Idea. I selected a small, softly yellow and very clear, very agate, rock and walked around to the dock’s finger where her small boat was tied. I knocked on the fiberglass hull and stood beside the cockpit where shimmering pink plastic beach shoes rested next to a tossed-off pink jacket. Father and child emerged.

“Hi,” said I. “I wanted to thank you again for the stick you shared and would like for you to have one of my treasured rocks. I think this is agate. You can hold it up to the light and see nearly all the way through it. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I am enjoying the stick you shared.

“Thank you,” she said.

It wasn’t long before I saw their small boat leave the island. Who were they? Who was she? Whatever prompted her decision to share? What’s the meaning of an exchange of a small stick and a small rock? Is there a butterfly’s flutter in Brazil that started it all? I’m game for that sort of explanation. Otherwise, I don’t have one. I do have a stick that was exchanged between hands along a path on an island where neither she nor I live. It rests now, along with a stack of treasured rocks.

The picture is of rocks, right? I found them on Blake Island’s eastern beach. Some of them are agate and that pleases me plenty. 

But the great treasure is found beside the beach rocks. 

The Stick.

“Here,” said the little girl wearing a pink, quilted jacket, black leggings, and sparkly plastic beach shoes. She must be about five-years-old, I thought. I had seen her earlier with an adult I assumed was her father, climbing carefully among stacked boulders along the shore, 

poking her way with with a walking stick I first mistook for a fishing pole.

“Here,” she said later in the morning, extending The Stick to me as Skoshi and I meant to pass her by on a dirt path paralleling water’s edge. 

“I think you might enjoy this,” she said, finishing the handoff. That was it. A stranger. A stick. A decision to share.

Slightly startled, but recovering quickly enough to avoid dis-ease, I said, “Thank you! I do love natural things. And, by the way, I enjoyed watching you a while ago, bravely making your way along the rocks. Well done.”

She thanked me, turned and moved on to the next adventure which involved climbing atop a massive decaying stump in order to explain to her companion something about the face she found in a knot of the oak tree she was inspecting, now at half the height of  the trunk before it branched out. Skoshi and I moved on to the ramp, down the gradual, high-tide slope, and to the boat where, at the cockpit door,  I passed my resting stack of rocks—some of which I believe are agate.

It didn’t take long before the sight of my not so hidden cache of rocks bore into mind as Idea. I selected a small, softly yellow and very clear, very agate, rock and walked around to the dock’s finger where her small boat was tied. I knocked on the fiberglass hull and stood beside the cockpit where shimmering pink plastic beach shoes rested next to a tossed-off pink jacket. Father and child emerged.

“Hi,” said I. “I wanted to thank you again for the stick you shared and would like for you to have one of my treasured rocks. I think this is agate. You can hold it up to the light and see nearly all the way through it. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I am enjoying the stick you shared.

“Thank you,” she said.

It wasn’t long before I saw their small boat leave the island. Who were they? Who was she? Whatever prompted her decision to share? What’s the meaning of an exchange of a small stick and a small rock? Is there a butterfly’s flutter in Brazil that started it all? I’m game for that sort of explanation. Otherwise, I don’t have one. I do have a stick that was exchanged between hands along a path on an island where neither she nor I live. It rests now, along with a stack of treasured rocks.